


Overtime

by White Aster (white_aster)



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-29
Updated: 2007-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were becoming something not quite casual:  Hiruma began staying longer, until Yukimitsu often woke to the sound of Hiruma physically and verbally bullying Yukimitsu's elderly espresso machine into producing drinkable caffeine.  Yukimitsu could order Hiruma's favorites at any of a half-dozen restaurants and take-out places.  Hiruma's things slowly filtered into Yukimitsu's apartment:  a toothbrush in the bathroom, a few sets of clothes in a drawer, a second Deimon Devilbats mug next to Yukimitsu's in the dish drainer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overtime

"Fucking email me when you're not doing fucking lawyer things," Hiruma's note had said.

So Yukimitsu did. Not right away, of course, but when he found himself a week later with dinner reservations for two. Yukimitsu hesitated for only a moment before sending off an email. It started off being two paragraphs long, full of details and explanations. His finger hovered over the SEND button for a second before he thought, "...this is HIRUMA."

He deleted it all, tapped out, "Takara Restaurant in Shibuya. 8pm?" and hit SEND.

Fifteen minutes later his handheld beeped. "I'll be late. Order me some prime rib, rare, fucking baldy."

Hiruma was there right when he said he'd be, even dressed in a dark coat and tie over his usual black. His hair and earrings still drew alarmed looks, but Yukimitsu barely noticed, too busy concealing the reaction he was having to the sight of Hiruma in a suit.

Hiruma tossed his laptop bag on a chair and slid into his seat with a grin and a "Short fucking notice, baldy. You're lucky I was in the area."

"Sorry about that," Yukimitsu said, smiling apologetically. "I had someone cancel on me and figured that it was a shame to waste the reservations."

Hiruma waved away the apology and then gestured to the waitress. "You order yet?"

Yukimitsu nodded. "And I told them to run your steak through a warm room."

Hiruma's grin widened. "Excellent."

The sight of his teeth reminded Yukimitsu of those very same teeth grazing his shoulder, his lip, his-- Yukimitsu stopped himself there, not particularly wanting to spend the entire dinner with a raging hard-on.

Instead, he asked what Hiruma had been doing in the neighborhood and was pleasantly surprised when Hiruma told him with seeming honesty, "Checking on an investment. I invest in start-ups, provide starting capital, that kind of thing. Then I sit back and let them make me money."

Yukimitsu chuckled. He could see where this was going. He wondered how thick the Devil's Notebook was now. Or perhaps it was electronic at this point, housed on the ever-present laptop. "And if those businesses happen to have a little good fortune in the form of, oh, waived bribes, or a favorable contract cast their way...."

Hiruma just grinned over his glass of Sapporo.

They talked about Shibuya, then economics, and were still bickering over foreign policy as they paid the bill. When they stood outside, still arguing, Yukimitsu inclined his head vaguely in the direction of his apartment. Hiruma just smiled, said that Yukimitsu was fucking naive and that the country would be bankrupt if it followed Yukimitsu's advice, then followed him home, still pressing his point.

\------------------------

And so it went. A dinner here, a lunch there, an amefuto game every now and then.

Yukimitsu told Hiruma about his cases, with as few specifics as he could (except for one time a particularly heartless corporation had won a class action suit on a technicality, leaving several of Yukimitsu's poorest clients with no compensation for the debilitating lung disease the company's defective face masks had left them with. THAT time Yukimitsu had been MORE than happy to tell Hiruma all about every dirty secret his firm had uncovered but been unable to use...and made sure that Hiruma took notes.) Yukimitsu vented about an uncaring bureaucracy and the laziness of his colleagues, the crumbling morals of the senior partners at his firm.

Hiruma matched Yukimitsu's stories with his own about the corruption rife up and down the government and corporate ladders, the layers upon layers of bribes and rackets every new business owner had to go through to even open shop. How he'd had to resort to blackmail more than once to get honest, hard-working people a break. And he complained about how the new crop of first year American football team recruits at Zokugaku only had one or two worth showing up for. "Nothing special, but they've got something to prove. Y'know, like a few other people I know."

Yukimitsu went to see Hiruma coach the Chameleons whenever he could. (Hiruma had been right. They lacked spirit and talent. Mostly, Yukimitsu thought, they needed a smart quarterback. It nearly killed Hiruma, Yukimitsu could see, to stand on the sidelines and see the plays coming and have no way to warn the kids. Yukimitsu often found himself sitting next to Habashira Rui and a very intent little boy with very long arms, whose eyes were glued to the field. Judging by the way the kid hung on every complicated explanation his father gave about who was doing what and why on the field, Yukimitsu guessed that there would be another Habashira on the Chameleons someday.)

\---------------------------

Hiruma showed up, every now and then, across the street from Yukimitsu's firm, waiting for him when he left work. He wasn't conspicuous about it, just leaning against the front of a coffee shop and then turning, heading for the subway with a grin when he saw Yukimitsu notice him. Yukimitsu wasn't sure whether he found this infrequent habit creepy or endearing.

They always went to Yukimitsu's place. ("It's not that it matters to me, fucking baldy, there's just nothing THERE at my place.") The sex was great, of course. Hiruma was the kind of passionate bedpartner that Yukimitsu had never quite managed to find, so full of WANT that it was infectious. Yet he was always considerate and careful, in his own way. His dangerous edge was like the sharpness of his teeth: new and exciting when so very, intimately close, but never edging into "too hard" or "too much".

Yukimitsu found his neighbors giving him odd looks in the halls, every now and then. Hiruma was not a quiet lover.

Even more worrisome, Yukimitsu found himself losing interest in anyone else. He thought of long fingers and a wicked smile when he was alone at night. It was like he was fifteen again, in more ways than one.

It didn't help that slowly, so very slowly, they were becoming something not quite casual: Hiruma began staying longer, until Yukimitsu often woke to the sound of Hiruma physically and verbally bullying Yukimitsu's elderly espresso machine into producing drinkable caffeine. Yukimitsu could order Hiruma's favorites at any of a half-dozen restaurants and take-out places. Hiruma's things slowly filtered into Yukimitsu's apartment: a toothbrush in the bathroom, a few sets of clothes in a drawer, a second Deimon Devilbats mug next to Yukimitsu's in the dish drainer. Hiruma would sometimes stay for a few days at a time, working off of Yukimitsu's couch, his laptop screen crowded with a dozen open windows and his mobile headset glued to his ear. During those days, when Yukimitsu had the suspicion that Hiruma forgot to eat, he'd bring food to the coffeetable, and it would disappear in between phone calls and emails.

And then, when Yukimitsu's mother died suddenly, almost a year after they met again on a crowded Tokyo street, Hiruma showed up, without a word but carrying a bottle of sake. He didn't even mind when Yukimitsu broke own halfway through the night. Yukimitsu woke up with a raging hangover and a lanky arm tight around his waist. He'd turned and wrapped his arms around Hiruma so tightly that Hiruma had cursed at him sleepily.

No, none of those things helped at all. Instead, they put a heaviness in Yukimitsu's chest that occasionally contracted, squeezing him tight.

Yukimitsu told himself that he was being ridiculous. That what he had was more than good enough and what right did he have to hope for more? That wanting something too much, being greedy, was only setting himself up for disappointment. That words meant nothing, anyway. That it didn't matter. It didn't. That "it"--this casual, no strings attached, wonderful thing they had going--was enough. He told himself that, every day.

\------------------------

On Yukimitsu's 30th birthday, he arrived home from the last of a string of terrible days arguing with the senior partners to find a note on his kitchen table: "Dinner, 8pm, Suzuko's. Don't forget or I'll fucking kill you."

Yukimitsu sighed. He'd forgotten about dinner. He consoled himself by thinking that at least Suzuko's was a nice, quiet place within walking distance...and they had good eel....

Happily, his fantasy of a nice, quiet dinner was shattered when he walked into Suzuko's and was promptly pulled into a bonecrushingly familiar bearhug. "YUKIMITSU-SAAAN! It's been so long!"

"K...Kurita-san," Yukimitsu wheezed into a--very broad--chest.

"Put him down, fucking fatties. There's more people here waiting their turns to blubber all over him," Yukimitsu heard over the roaring in his ears, as he was set back down on his feet. He caught a glimpse of Kurita's round face, tanned from the sun, and Komusubi at his side. "F...Friend!"

And then Yukimitsu was caught up in two more hugs, less powerful but better-smelling, which proved to be Mamori and Suzuna, and after that it was a blur of familiar faces. Everyone seemed to be there: Ishimaru and his (very pregnant) wife, Musashi and his (also very pregnant) wife, Jumonji and his (not pregnant, but very pretty) wife, Kuroki, Taki...everyone but Togano who, Kuroki said, was finishing up an art degree in America. They steered Yukimitsu to the large banquet table that had, apparently, replaced Suzuko's usual scatter of smaller tables. At first Yukimitsu was afraid that the large group had chased away the other customers, but then Suzuko herself tottered out and proudly placed a "Closed - Private Party" sign on the door before turning to kiss him soundly on the cheek and wish him a happy birthday. Then she bellowed for the wait staff to bring food.

Yukimitsu took the glass of beer that someone shoved into his hand, eyes traveling down the table again in a daze. His eyes caught on a familiar, spiky head. Hiruma, busy chanting "fuckingmanagerfuckingmanagerfuckingmanager" and fending off what appeared to be a Sena-Monta-Mamori combination play using Kurita and a chair as cover, caught Yukimitsu's eye and gave him a half-grin.

Yukimitsu drank his beer until he could breathe past the tightness in his chest.

\------------------------

"That," Yukimitsu declared as they walked, only slightly unsteadily, towards home, "was the best birthday present ever."

"What, that? That wasn't a birthday present." Hiruma's smile was, despite his words, incredibly smug.

"No?"

"No. THAT was an excuse to have a fucking big party." Hiruma grinned, cocking his head to the side. "Or did you think you were the only one having fun there, fucking baldy?"

Yukimitsu shook his head, smiling at the car lights below as they walked onto a pedestrian bridge. "Jumonji-san told me, you know."

"Told you what?"

"That you lent him money so he could open his store."

Hiruma stuck his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, well, don't get all mushy. I charged him interest."

"And Suzuna-san said that you introduced her to that modeling director guy who signed on Taki-san."

"Did not."

"A~aaand Sena-san said that--"

Hiruma gave him a push. "Oh will you shut up already!"

Yukimitsu laughed, stopping to lean against the bars of the guard rail and yell out over the street, "HEY, TOKYO, HIRUMA YOICHI IS A NICE GUY!"

"You idiot," Hiruma muttered, dragging him back. "Drunk fucking moron."

Yukimitsu turned and put his arms around Hiruma's neck, staying close, still laughing. He leaned his forehead against Hiruma's. The yellow light from the streetlamps turned Hiruma's eyes into something almost inhuman, but Yukimitsu knew better. "You ARE a nice guy," Yukimitsu said. "Only to your friends, but you ARE a nice guy."

"Che," Hiruma rolled his eyes. "Don't fucking let it get around."

Yukimitsu leaned in, nuzzling against Hiruma's neck for no reason other than it was there, looking nuzzleable, and thus nuzzling it seemed like a very, very good idea.

Hiruma put his hands on Yukimitsu's shoulders and pushed, though not very hard. "Oi, baldy, we're kinda in public here."

"Mmmmhmmmm...." Yukimitsu worked his way up to one pointed ear and nibbled. "Don't care."

"Nnn. As much fun as THAT is...you WILL care, if one of your coworkers sees you making out with a guy on an overpass."

"Peh." Yukimitsu pulled back, his good mood popping like one of Hiruma's bubbles. He leaned against the railing, arms crossing over his chest. "I'm gonna quit."

Hiruma blinked at him. "What?"

"The firm." Yukimitsu had been on the fence about this decision, but now, slightly buzzed, things seemed clearer, the choice easier. "I'm going to quit."

Hiruma frowned at him for a moment, as if he was trying to gauge whether it was the Sapporo talking or not. Then he came over to lean against the railing, too, the cars running underneath them, unconcerned. "Did something else happen?"

"Yeah. Early this week they started talking about serious changes they were making to the client base. At first it was a client here and there, stuff that I wasn't really involved in and didn't really see the whole picture on. Then...today...they laid out the whole thing. They're dropping all the pro bono clients. All of them. And the new clients are all corporate." He leaned back, wishing that there were stars he could stare at.

Hiruma was silent for a moment, eyes on the pavement. "They weren't making enough money."

"Bingo."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Yukimitsu took a deep breath, coughed, and decided to get the hell off the overpass. He pushed away from the wall, continuing across. "I don't want to work for corporations, Hiruma. I just...I don't. I don't want to work for people who only care about people when they sue them. I...I think that the senior partners know that, too. I think I might have argued a bit too much today. I might even have a terbin--terminab-- firing waiting for me on Monday, who knows." He stumbled a bit on the steps down to the sidewalk, and stopped, grasping the railing again to steady himself. "I don't know what I'm going to do, really."

"Idiot." So familiar, that arm coming around Yukimitsu's waist. Only to steady him this time, but still.... "You do what you always do, fucking baldy. Your fucking best. Straight to the goal. And if someone gets in your way? You fucking blow past them." Yukimitsu turned, and the look on Hiruma's face reminded him of his first match, of the insane, complete faith in a boy who'd never played a single game.

_How_, Yukimitsu thought. _How can he do this? How can he give me...give everyone this kind of strength?_

It was almost too much. It was hard to breathe again.

"I love you, you know," Yukimitsu said.

A second later, as Hiruma's eyes snapped to his face, Yukimitsu thought, _Oh. Yeah. There was a reason I don't say that out loud._

Hiruma's gaze softened, his eyes rolling. "You're drunk."

It was an out. An easy out. But Yukimitsu was tired of running away. Enough of that. Straight to the goal. "Yeah," he said. "I am. That's why I can say it. I'll say it again when I'm sober, too."

Yukimitsu'd been terrified of this moment for so long, wondering what expression he'd see. Disbelief? Disgust? Coldness? Pity? He couldn't see any of them, but that didn't mean much, against Hiruma's poker face. "I just...I just wanted you to know." Yukimitsu resisted the impulse, in the face of that impassivity, to babble, to explain, to qualify, to make it better or make it worse.

"Che. Fucking baldy. What's that look for?" Hiruma leaned his forehead against Yukimitsu's, and the look in his eyes was maybe, just maybe, as warm as his voice. "You think I didn't know?" Hiruma murmured, smiling. "I'm not blind, you know."

Yukimitsu drew a breath, and laughed with him. It could have been the light, but it sure looked like Hiruma was relieved, too, somehow.

Hiruma pulled away, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "So. Are we done with the confessions on public sidewalks now? Can we go home, maybe?"

Yukimitsu nodded, still smiling. "Yeah."

"Honestly, you looked like you were afraid I was going to shoot you or something."

"Well...you know...some guys are...odd...about the L word. And you've uh...well, it's not like you don't have some issues with interpersonal relationships."

"What ISSUES?"

"The GUNS, Hiruma."

"...and your point is?"

\------------------------

Yukimitsu woke at 6am like usual the next morning...to an empty bed. When he got up to use the bathroom, he realized that the entire apartment was, in fact, Hiruma-less.

For a long moment, still half-asleep, he panicked. Sure, Hiruma had seemed all right afterwards, sure, there had been some incredibly mind-blowing sex when they got back, but but...

Well, it wasn't as if Hiruma had said that he loved him back or anything.

Then, Yukimitsu glanced out the window and saw a familiar fringe of blond hair sticking up over the back of one of the balcony lounge chairs.

Yukimitsu waited until his heart stopped hammering to go outside. Then he ducked back inside and grabbed a blanket from the couch. Because it was a cold spring morning, and his...boyfriend...god, what an inadequate word...was obviously insane, sitting out there in his underwear and t-shirt.

"Aren't you freezing?" Yukimitsu asked. It was a dumb question, he realized. He could see the goosebumps on Hiruma's arms already.

Hiruma shrugged. "A little. I was thinking." He turned to leer at Yukimitsu. "Gonna come warm me up?"

"Yeah, by bringing you inside, you idiot," Yukimitsu said. He sat down on the chair, though, and sighed, long-sufferingly, as Hiruma wormed his hands under the blanket and pulled him close. Yukimitsu graciously draped the blanket over both of them. "Who was it that was complaining about making out in public last night?"

"We're twelve stories up, who's gonna see us?"

"Everyone in the other buildings, maybe?"

"Your logic has no effect on me," Hiruma said, splaying his hands over warm skin and making Yukimitsu hiss and elbow him in the ribs.

A few minutes later, just when Yukimitsu had found a good spot against Hiruma's shoulder and it started getting almost comfortable under the blanket, one finger dragged over Yukimitsu's shoulderblade. "Hey."

"Hmm?"

"If you had thirty million yen to start up something...a business, a non-profit, whatever...what would you do with it?"

Yukimitsu pulled back to look at him. No smirk in sight. "...you're serious."

"Yeah."

"You are seriously...offering me thirty million yen."

"I don't know, I haven't heard what you'd do with it yet."

"You. But. What. Are you INSANE?"

"Will you answer the fucking question?" Hiruma pulled Yukimitsu back down far enough to replace the dislodged blanket around them. "And quit moving around. It's cold out here, you know."

"You are insane. Insane." Then Yukimitsu started thinking about it. "You know what I'd do. Non-profit...lots of pro bono work for the poor, the people who need a lawyer and can't afford one...." He could...he could probably get Tanaka and Ichiroji to come with him, they were as unhappy as he was...it wouldn't pay much, but they could apply for those new government grants to cover the salaries and operating costs...it would work for a small firm...and they could put the venture capital in an investment fund as a fall back and.... His mind whirled. "Why?"

Hiruma's hands, like usual, were more telling than his face, steady and warm on Yukimitsu's sides. "What, you think I like seeing you unhappy?"

"Still.... I...I don't want to take your money. And that much? It's just going to make things strange between us and--"

Hiruma rolled his eyes. "I don't _want_ it, idiot."

Yukimitsu stopped. "--what?"

Hiruma actually sounded surprised, his eyebrows raising. "I don't want it. The money. Never have. It's fucking useless unless I do something with it. Haven't you figured that out yet?" He reached up, his hand warm against Yukimitsu's neck for a moment before scurrying back under the blanket. "So let me make a few dreams come true with it. You don't have to feel indebted or anything, because I don't want it back. It's not like I can't make more, and it's not like I'm giving you every last yen I've got, either. Not even close."

Yukimitsu almost asked exactly how close, but then decided that he didn't want to know. "You. I. This."

"Entire sentences are helpful."

Yukimitsu's mouth opened and closed a few more times, just for good measure. "You are an ass. And I love you. And I need to think about this. Okay?"

"Fine." Hiruma's hands slid up Yukimitsu's back, rubbing warmth into it. He pulled a pained face. "Just please quit that fucking place. I'm tired of you being fucking miserable."

Yukimitsu nodded, leaning down to kiss him and breathing in the Hiruma-scent of gum and cologne and gunpowder. In a minute, he'd take his blanket and go inside. But right now, he was...he was good. Things were good.

Maybe more than good. Maybe kind of great. For reasons that had very little to do with thirty million yen.


End file.
